


That Which Gold Cannot Buy

by NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Did I mention very fluffy fluff?, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Romance, Sexual Content, Two Parts - Now Completed, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, When it's cold outside stay in and keep warm, Yuletide in Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: In the midst of the long, cold winter, Yuletide arrives to Winterfell and Brienne arranges a cosy festive surprise in her chambers for Jaime.  Provisions are scarce, and she had to make his gift herself - but that's what you do for the man who followed you North, the man who has stayed by your side ever since - the man you love.If only he knew and felt the same...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 46
Kudos: 135





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Season's Greetings everyone! 
> 
> So upon a whim I decided to write a fluffy festive fic. I couldn't resist! (And yes, I packed it with every holiday reference that sprang to mind, irrespective of their doubtful existence in the canonverse, ROFL). I only finished typing it at 2am last night and it is probably riddled with errors, but heck, I had fun, so I couldn't wait to share. Consider this my formal typo apology as I proceed with only minimal editing, LOL.  
> I have divided it into two parts and I will release them in close succession. :) 
> 
> Wishing all my fellow Braime shippers a very Happy Holidays, filled with everything that makes you smile <3

Music drifted across the snow-covered yard beyond her window, finding its way in through tiny cracks in the mortar of the ancient castle walls, accompanied by the odd burst of cold, the chill more pronounced by its contrast with the toasty air of her closed bedchamber. The crisp intrusion producing an involuntary shiver and prompting her to pull the thick drapes, shuttering out the unwanted gelidity. 

However, Brienne paused for a heartbeat before blocking off the view entirely, long fingers poised on the bound tapestry edging, admiring the pristine landscape, glistening in a wonderland of white, deceptively pretty for a season which brought with it so many hardships.

_I have never seen a White Yuletide before today._

It was a new experience having grown up on an island, where all thoughts of snow were chased away by sun and sweltering heat, revelry exchanged for a shaded place in the breeze, energy sapped by humidity and napping the most joyous pastime of the day. By comparison the marshmallow and cotton panorama seemed serene, blissful. The patterns of frost creeping across the glass lace-like and captivating, stencilled by nature’s artistry with no two intricate designs alike. 

_But I mustn’t dawdle or this blessed day shall go to waste. Any moment now the knock could come…_

The drawn curtains may have quashed the icy incursions, but it had not silenced the distant strains of merry melody, the time-honoured tunes echoing through the stone corridors of the stronghold, buffeting against the closed obstacle of her chamber door before eventually pushing beneath the timber and reaching her ears. 

It provided a festive ambience as she fussed and Brienne silently thanked the musicians who had contributed their talents to the holiday, playing in Winterfell’s Great Hall for any and all who cared to listen. Their gift of carols intended to lighten the spirits of the castle-dwellers, even for the briefest of interludes, providing a welcome distraction from the bleak realities of the relentless Winter. 

Once again, Brienne was reminded how this Yuletide was unlike any she had ever known. Decking her sparse bower with scant decorations, feeding an abundance of logs to the fire to combat the freezing, bitter weather. Setting the table with her treasured stockpile of saved provisions, the North unable to spare precious resources to host any semblance of a banquet. 

For weeks she had been squirreling away anything she could spare, saving up rations of non-perishable food, existing in the dark instead of burning her nightly allocated candle. Clutching at what traditions she could, determined to make the day bright… for her. And for _him._

_For Jaime._

Ever since he had ridden into Winterfell’s courtyard - the whirling flurries of the howling blizzard following him through the great iron gates, ice crystals encrusting his beard and snowflakes clinging to his crown of aureate curls – things had been different between them. _And not unpleasantly so…_

The shift in their interactions as a pair was marked yet indistinct, near undetectable to anyone outside of their odd duo, the Northerners too unfamiliar with the lion and the Tarth born swordswench to remark upon any change in their dynamic.

_Yet still…_

The sheer fact that she now reflected upon them in terms of 'duo' and ‘a pair’ spoke to their newfound symbiosis. 

  
At first Brienne had put it down to the great respect and admiration she held for Jaime – watching on with a subtle tear in her eye as he announced that he had abandoned his sister to her ‘Throne of Corruption’, laying his bejewelled sword at Sansa’s feet. Pledging himself to the service of the very maid they had united to save, Lady Stark herself a symbol of their fortified rapport. 

Then it had been the rush of duelling, the thrill of having a practise partner with whom she meshed, their fighting styles adapting to move as one, feeling more natural to the oft ungainly noblewoman than dancing every had. 

In the yard it was not as startling for them to be inextricably together; honing their swords, polishing their armour. Jaime complaining then japing, Brienne rolling her eyes one minute then snorting indelicately the next at his wry observations.   
  
But it was what came after which caught her off-guard, taught her the meaning of inseparability. 

Jaime would stand behind her in line to collect their nightly dinner rations, portions of a meal too measly to feed a dog but proportionate to the Citadel's forecast duration of Winter’s blight and the numerous mouths to feed within the castle walls. There was nothing necessitating his presence at her heels, but nevertheless he was there. Again and again. The peculiar behaviour extending to when they broke their fast and repeating each evening at supper. Always near, inching closer. His proximity strangely acceptable to her usual preference for solitude. 

Once she had stepped backwards and bumped directly into him, the curve of her back fitting against his muscular chest with unnerving snugness. His teasing quip delivered directly to her ear with a puff of warm air which tickled beneath the collar of her woollen clothes. Somehow, she felt its tingle all the way down to her breasts and Brienne had to stifle the urge to fold her arms over her chest lest she drop her trencher. 

Later that night, she had pondered whether she lingered pressed up against him a beat too long to be seemly. Questioned the accommodations and eagerness going on beneath her skin. 

It was unnatural – surely - to react in such a manner. 

It was childish – surely – to have butterflies take wing in her stomach when he chose to perch on the bench directly beside her, huddling close and offering to trade morsels, bartering with her through thick eyelashes which could cajole a Mother dragon into parting with her nest of eggs. 

It was foolhardy – surely – to grow accustomed to his closeness. The solid comfort of his presence at her back, more certain to be on her tail than her own shadow. To slow her strides to wait for him, to reserve the spot beside her at table, to ignore his playful taunts and instead see the fond spark within his smile, heating her more efficiently than the hearth-fire ever did. 

_That must be why I suggested this…_

Just over a moon’s turn ago, Jaime had been grumbling. Though that in itself was nothing out of the ordinary. The lion misliked the cold, the bulky clothes, the Northerners' cheerless dispositions. His castle-forged winter armour pinched, his gold hand was frozen to his arm, his chattering teeth kept him awake at night. He even made a passing comment about his cock being liable to snap off from frostbite which Brienne made a special effort to ignore. 

But high on Jaime’s list of complaints was the gloomy outlook for approaching Yuletide. 

_"No presents, nor feast. No parties or finery. Just cold and drudgery, like every other bloody day."_

And that had been when Brienne privately avowed to set the holiday apart, to make it special one way or another. 

  
  


From that hour on, she began syphoning off from her rations, collecting her white tapers in a basket in the corner of her chamber, adding wood sparingly to the fire and keeping extra logs aside. Taking walks in the nearby woods whenever she had an hour spare and could evade Jaime long enough to collect pinecones, fir boughs and sprigs of holly. Chatting to the other women in the castle and making exchanges for what she required. 

She had a spare nightshirt she did not need, a fine unworn article with lace trim - and that secured a new pair of white woollen socks. Though Brienne did not intend them for feet, their purpose was for far more creative plans. 

From Sansa herself she borrowed needle and thread, hunching her large frame over by the dim light of her waning fire night after night and trying to remember her Septa’s lessons in embroidery stitches. She pricked herself more times than she could count, swearing under her breath when the berry red droplet of blood irreversibly stained the white fabric. 

The end result was a messy thing, the type of paltry attempt at needlepoint which would make Roelle rant and rave for hours at her ineptitude. But it was the best she could accomplish and somewhere deep in her chest Brienne was beginning to acknowledge that love went into every stitch. 

_That_ thought was enough to knock the breath from her lungs and make the world go woozy. 

Brienne was setting the last of her candles when the knock at the door finally came, holding the base of the small ivory taper to the flame of the previous, melting the bottom just enough that the wax began to run before she set it amidst the greenery, wincing slightly when a hot dribble ran over her knuckles. 

“Coming!” She hollered, fixing the candle in place until it stuck, pedantic about perfecting the festive arrangement before her, whilst giving not a second thought to her own harried appearance. 

It was only as she pressed her hand to the knob and began to turn, that the concept of her presentability entered her mind, brushing errant pine needles from the hem of her sleeve and straightening her crooked jerkin. Sighing at the futility of her perpetual unattractiveness. 

“Wench!” Jaime’s petulant whine boomed through the wood grain, his signature call of late, laced with impatience and generally followed by a complaint. “Let me in…those damn fiddlers have been playing since the crack of dawn. They woke me when I had only just fallen asleep and if I don’t escape them soon, I’m going to shove their bows where the sun doesn’t shine - then all can have a very Merry Yuletide.” 

Smirking Brienne yanked open the door, her head already beginning to swing left and right in disapproval. “I was enjoying their recital.” She kept her tone flat, masking her amusement at his bluster. “And a Merry Yuletide to you too.” 

To her boundless joy he smiled, the genuine kind which crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up all those who gazed upon it. More brilliant than the star which marked the pre-dawn sky, only visible upon Yuletide Eve. Radiant and enough to melt solid stone – to melt _her._

“Merry Yuletide Brienne.” Her name on his tongue almost made her knees buckle, the tenderness he imbued in his timbre. Soft and reverent, as though he were reciting a sacred prayer, elated to share the secret privilege of addressing her by her first name. A far cry from his general jovial barks and biting snark. “I brought us this to mark the occasion.” Proudly he brandished a flagon which presumably contained wine, her eyes widening as she realised that alcohol had slipped her mind. As a woman who rarely imbibed it was easy to overlook other people’s penchant for liquor. 

“You did well to procure it.” Backing up against the door, she pushed it open wider – an invitation for him to enter her private sanctuary. Or for the purposes of today… their Yuletide Haven. “The men guard their ale and strongwine more vigilantly than they do their gold of late.” 

“I am well aware…” Crossing the threshold with his usual swagger he peered around the room. “…I attempted to use coin to purchase it and was told in no backward manner that my gold was useless here. These Northeners place value only in what can help them get through the Winter and apparently funds aren’t one of those things. I parted with a rather good pair of gloves to secure this…” His voice trailed off as he took in her decorating, the ornamentation meagre but she hoped effective. 

“It sounds as though you got the wrong end of the bargain,” Closing the door with a firm click and turning the lock, Brienne silently hoped no one was in the hallway to witness his admittance to her bedchamber. _Elsewise tongues will be wagging tomorrow._ “Gloves are far more practical than liquor in this climate.” 

“I didn’t need the pair.” Jaime spun around to face her with a shrug. “Gold can’t feel the cold. He is yet to discover that his pair contains two right hands.” 

Rolling her blue spheres to the ceiling she picked dried wax from the back of her hand with her fingernails, her octave turning sardonic. “That will be fun tomorrow.” 

“Ahhh, but by then the wine will be gone – no returns.” Winking playfully, he deposited the flagon on the small table by the entryway, sauntering over to her as firelight bounced in the strands of his hair. “You did all this…” Jaime gestured to her decorations and Brienne inwardly beamed, too modest by far to outwardly display her happiness at his slackened jaw. “…I don’t know how you managed it but – it looks…” He quietened slightly, reflective. “… like home. Or at least how a home ought to look and feel. I can’t say I have ever been anywhere so inviting. Casterly Rock was always stuffy, as children we weren’t allowed to touch any of the ornaments for fear we would break the expensive trimmings, mess up the precise display. Less a Yuletide wonderland and more a status symbol, the rooms decked for show. But you…you’ve created a home-”

Her breath caught in her throat and Brienne suppressed the urge to cough around the niggle, swept up in the idea that she had been unconsciously nesting, building a place where two could feel content, where a couple could roost and more…

Pushing her nonsense aside, she swallowed, studying Jaime instead. Noticing the concern etched across his forehead as his pupils traced the light burn marks on her hand. “-and earnt yourself a few injuries for your efforts.” 

Quick as lightning he picked up her hand, drawing one of her reddened knuckles into his mouth and sucking before she had a chance to register what he was doing. To make matters worse, when the impact finally struck, her immediate reaction was to yank her digit away, her reflexes too hasty to contemplate the consequences. The loss of the wet heat of his mouth against her skin, the flash of rejection which puckered his features. 

“Fine then Wench, do it yourself.” He threw his hand and stump upwards in a gesture of defeat. “But they need tending…”

“I will be fine, I barely even felt them.” Brienne mumbled, absent-mindedly rubbing her thumb over the moistened patch where the tip of his tongue had been, trying to call up the memory of the sensation, to lock it safely in the part of her brain reserved for treasures, currently occupied by brushes of his hand and fortuitous tickles from his whiskers. “Thank you just the same.” 

“Well by the looks of things it should be me thanking you – this is quite the surprise, I wasn’t expecting…well _anything._ And yet here I am and look what you’ve achieved.” There was a childlike exuberance to his demeanour, the light from a month’s worth of stored candles illuminating his awe, making all her pains beyond worthwhile. 

“There is more.” Her smile was shy, but chuffed. Reinforced by his gratitude and appreciation, validating her silliness and efforts. “Come…” 

With all her heart she wanted to reach for him, to take his hand and lead him to the lunch table, but instead she stiffly beckoned for him to follow, maintaining propriety and safeguarding herself against inevitable rejection. “I have put together what I could – dried meats, hardbread… I know it isn’t much but we should have full bellies on Yuletide at least.” 

“Brienne-” This time her name was said with the hint of a scolding. “-the only way for you to have gotten this was to take it from your nightly meals…” 

“No harm done; I am well enough.” She threw a self-deprecating glance over her own frame, less a few pounds but still more brawny than most of the fighting men. “I remain as sturdy as an aurochs even going without. It is all said and done now, so no use flogging a dead horse – today we feast.” 

“Hmmmmnnn…” Jaime furrowed his brow, the resulting lines betraying their difference in age. “…I still don’t feel right about it Wench.”

“Anymore than I feel correct about drinking liquor which cost you a warm pair of gloves.”

He scoffed. “Food is far more important…”

“Say that when the fingers fall off your sole remaining hand.” She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, keen to put an end to his protesting. Jubilance erupting when she watched his shoulders slump in defeat. 

“Fine.” 

Brienne could easily predict the mutter which followed, a song he sang frequently. 

“Stubborn, obstinate, pig-headed woman.”

_And yet here you are. My shadow, my companion, my…_

Even her thoughts were fearful to admit it, as if thinking such audaciously presumptive notions would somehow jinx the intimacy they had created. 

_…counterpart._

Over their Yuletide lunch she caught herself watching his lips one too many times, drifting into splendid daydreams of how they would look forming declarations of sentiment. Of how those same lips currently wrapped around the rim of a goblet, might feel wrapped around her own mouth. Of how her Father might react to Jaime joining them at Evenfall's table – a year from now, a season from now, a decade from now. 

How this misfit woman and outcast man could fit together in a blissful life. What they could mean to each other if her feelings were allowed free rein and Yuletide wishes really did come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Part Two :)


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime exchange gifts, then things get a little hot in front of the fire. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Happy Birthday shout out to Petta. I hope you have a wonderful day! <3

All too soon Jaime was brushing crumbs from his beard with a linen napkin and Brienne paid no scorn to the odd spillage which puddled on the tabletop from where he had fumbled with his left hand. Never would she view him as less of a man due to his maiming, the splashes and escaped morsels dotting the timber easily cleaned and swept away. She was just grateful for his company, more interested in basking in the pleasure of their natural affinity than she was in critiquing his table manners. 

“What now Wench?” There was not a hint of impatience in his enquiry, but there was the glint of mischief. The type of roguishness which made the reality of hosting a man in her private bedchamber come roaring back to the forefront of her awareness, the bed occupying the majority of the room suddenly seeming rather conspicuous. “Any activities in mind?” His eyebrows disappeared waggishly under his fringe.

_Is that what true couples do upon this day? Sated with full stomachs, do they then retire to the furs and whet other appetites?_

Her cheeks scalded and she sipped from her water chalice in an attempt to cool her temperature, choosing after the first perfunctory Yuletide toast to let Jaime enjoy his costly wine. The lion opposite her barked with laughter, taking far too great a delight in her discomfiture. Sliding his hand across the table and running his fingertips gently across the back of her wrist in reassurance all was well, that he expected nothing. Chivalrous and the picture of knightly gallantry. “Thank you for a lovely meal My Lady.” 

“You are welcome, Ser Jaime.” Brienne ducked her head, bashfulness taking hold. Feeling impossibly called out on her wanting and musing and secret hankering for the kind of physical intimacy she had never known. 

_He can’t know – surely. He is just teasing me._

Clearing her throat, Brienne pushed herself up from the table, deciding to leave the plates as they were. Her usual diligence given a reprieve in favour of savouring Yuletide. “Sit with me by the fire? There is another tradition I have attempted to recreate – though I forewarn upfront it is a pitiable effort, I am nearly ashamed to proceed.” 

“And thus you have piqued my curiousity.” Jaime was indeed inquisitive as he followed her lead, rising from his chair and trailing after her the few steps to the rug in front of the fireplace. Brienne cringed as she reached the mantle, gesturing lamely toward the nail she had hammered into the wood. 

Suspended from it was one of the socks she had procured, a small loop of braided rope messily stitched to the open end, a sprig of holly threaded through to mask the chunky join and fraying edges. The sock hung downwards in front of the crackling blaze, an obvious bulge serving as a miserable excuse for a gift stuffing the toe.

“Merry Yuletide.” The Maid of Tarth scuffed her feet against the plushpile below, distracting herself from her own embarrassment. “It is nothing I assure you.” 

“My own Yuletide stocking?” His emeralds were wider than saucers, his grin positively elated. How a fully-grown man managed to show such earnest enthusiasm over a lowly piece of hosiery she would never comprehend, but it warmed her from the inside out, banishing her diffidence out into the cold. 

“Yes.” Folding her long legs, Brienne lowered herself to the rug, letting the warmth from the fire permeate into her pores. “But please remember, it is not anything to get excited over. Any gifts this year had to be made rather than bought and I don’t want you to be disappointed…”

“I am happy just to have it –” Jaime edged closer to where it hung, inspecting the mysterious shape from all angles, trying to guess the contents. “Roundish…and soggy.” He prodded at it with his finger until she laughed aloud and buried her face in her hands.

“Jaime please… this suspense is entirely uncalled for…” 

Brienne cracked open her fingers, peeking between the digits when she registered that he had fallen silent, her narrow window of vision encompassed by the lion's slanted head framed by a curtain of curls, towering above her with a look of wonderment writ across his mien. “I have never heard you laugh before.” He whispered in captivation. “You have snorted now and then, mainly you just grunt at me – but never an honest, uninhibited laugh.” 

Brienne hadn’t realised that she had grown so serious, her humour and gaiety crushed by the repetitive doldrums of Westerosi life to the point where Jaime had never witnessed her mirthful, unrestrained. Lowering her hands she simply lifted a shoulder, her desire to be genuine with him at war with her insecurities – knowing there was nothing comely about her smile, all crooked teeth and disfigured cheek.

“It is strange…” Jaime observed, and she instantly presumed he was describing her grin, the tug at the corners of her mouth falling away despondently. “…a smile or laugh worn frequently soon loses its special glimmer, becoming easily won and commonplace. But making them genuine and rare gives them a precious quality. Like a gem or a glimpse of the Seven Heavens. It is spectacular to behold. A gift in itself. Priceless.” 

_Oh…_ She was unused to hearing compliments, most especially from his often-vitriolic tongue and the pink in her cheeks made a resurgence, this time the rosy hue caused from delight.

Mercifully he returned to his stocking, his attention once more consumed with uncovering the secret of its contents, pointing at it and asking. “May I?” 

“Of course.” 

Jaime tugged the sock eagerly from the nail, bundling it into his left hand before plonking himself down opposite her, long legs stretched out and booted feet falling to either side of her knees. It took all her maidenly meekness to focus on his torso and above, determined to withhold permission for her eyes to travel downwards. 

Though they strayed, regardless of her best intentions. Disobedience holding more appeal than compliance. 

Her vision drank Jaime in, mapping the contours of his physique. Dwelling upon the way the laces of his breeches hugged and emphasised just how well endowed the Lord of Lannister truly was. Flashbacks of a steaming bathchamber reminding her of his gorgeous body, then lank and lean but now sculpted once more, muscular and shapely. She discreetly touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, her full belly enabling her to separate and identify the two very different kinds of hunger, her mouth salivating for a taste of the delicious unknown she could only find beneath Jaime's apparel... 

“What is this now?” He had extracted the contents from his stocking, uncovering the second - former - sock. Laying it upon his thigh to unravel it, puzzlement emanating from him as he saw it had been cut and hemmed, made shorter and embellished with her shaky embroidery. “It has my name on it.” 

Despite herself, another rumble of laughter snuck from her throat. “You can actually read that?” 

“Yes - I am nothing if not egotistical Wench, I am innately heedful of all records that pertain to me. The written word holds little interest unless it revolves around yours truly – be it in the White Book, or a Maester's account of Aerys’ slaying. One of the few things I readily recognise is my own name.” All things considered; he was being incredibly good-natured about a very shitty present. “And this clearly has a ‘J’,” He outlined the irregular letters with his index finger. “And then two shapes run together with a dot that indicates one of them is an ‘I’, so I can fill in the blank that the other is ‘A’…”

“Alright stop, I get the point -” Brienne was mortified, but for a change of pace it was expressed as amusement rather than self-loathing, bubbling up as ironic chuckles. “-I don’t know why I got the idea in my head to embroider it for you – needlework was never my forte.” 

“Shame, you could have asked me for pointers. I was quite good at it once, before I lost my right hand.” 

All she could do was gape at him in disbelief. “Should I ask?” 

“Better not.” He guffawed, “But I appreciate the effort taken to personalise it for me-” Jaime lifted the embroidery to his eyes, squinting theatrically as he located the spot of actual blood blemishing the white material. _Damn. I had hoped the red stitches and thread would disguise it._

“-It is evident the blood, sweat and tears that went into crafting this…this…” He searched sweetly for a name to put to the item. 

“It’s still a sock - in a way.” Brienne explained, taking it from him and smoothing it out upon her knee. “Just not for feet. It is for underneath your gold hand – you mentioned that it chafes and is especially cold in the freezing weather. This fabric is woollen, it should keep out the chill and create a better barrier from the metal. Even if it doesn’t work, I suppose you could wear it at night and keep your wrist warm.” 

“Wench…” He retrieved it from her, to Brienne's surprise setting to work straight away on unfastening the straps attaching his golden extremity. “…that is so thoughtful and kind. Thank you.” 

“I tried to make it attractive, I failed…” Her fingers hovered tentatively over his wrist, offering aid without words. Exhaling in relief when his left hand retreated, allowing her to take over the task. “…it seems beauty and I do not go together.” 

“Matter of opinion.” Jaime watched her work and Brienne did not dare peer into his eyes lest she be lost in the labyrinth of dreamlike possibility her maiden’s heart perceived within. “I cannot think of a more beautiful gesture. The present and the help.” 

Placing his golden hand and the worn, thin under-cover aside, she gathered the sock in her fingers, slipping it carefully over the scarred flesh and pulling it up. Rotating it gently until the scrawled crimson lettering for ‘Jaime’ was displayed on top. 

All the while he stared with unsettling intensity, his focus her face moreso than her movements, his lips parted wordlessly. At one stage Brienne feared she had somehow hurt him, that he had opened his mouth in an intake of breath to stifle pain. But the wound was long healed and the yelp never came, so she had been forced to conclude that his laden gaze held deeper mysteries.

“I would like to give my gift to you now.” Jaime’s voice was weighted with emotion, and she finally granted herself leave to meet his emeralds. The shining starlight she discovered within the windows to his soul at contrast with his seriousness. 

His magnetism drew her in as predicted, closer than was customary and decorous, fixing her in place as if hypnotised. Her posture originally affording her access to his right arm now bringing her into the undeniable pull of his orbit. Leaning into him rather than withdrawing back to her original position. 

“You have a gift for me?” Confusion clouded her thinking, befuddled by his nearness, more intoxicatingly irresistible than gravity and strongwine combined. “I thought you only brought the flagon in with you?” 

“It is actually something I have been meaning to give you for a while now –” His answer was indirect, neglecting to address her actual query. Continuing on his unique path of cryptic riddles, only alluding to his true meaning through his mystifying smirk. “- but I need you to be sure you want it…” 

Jaime wore his fathomless expression with such glee and charm, that deciphering it soon occupied the few remaining shreds of her common sense. Nerve endings heightened with anticipation and flickers of girlish wonder. Keen to solve and identify what variety of present could have Jaime so spellbound, and she so intrigued. “For once it is given, it cannot be taken back.” He had her enthralled, hanging from his every word, a ball of yarn in reach of the big cat’s paws, his to toy with and dangle at will. “The choice is yours Wench.” 

“I want it.” Brienne breathed, wasting not a heartbeat on contemplation. Whatever it was, it came from Jaime. And anything he would give her, she would cherish. 

The lion grinned, and her insides liquified to molten once more. The flow languorous like honey in her veins. Sweet, golden and slow.

“Close your eyes Brienne.” 

Her lids shut leisurely, obliging and heavy. But her pulse began to increase steadily, waking up from where it floated in the river of treacle produced by Jaime’s alluring proximity. In her world of dark and reddish glow, there was only the echo of his voice, the rustle of his clothes, the wash from his breath. 

Then a feeling she knew from her treasure trove of touches, the tantalising scrape of his beard against her skin. The friction spreading outwards from the point of impact like a seismic wave, radiating through her tightly coiled frame. Though this time its epicentre was not located upon her neck or her cheek, the product of clumsiness or wrestling for a sword. Instead, it originated from the tender flesh around her mouth. And it felt far from accidental. 

Brienne gasped, but the sound was swallowed. Stifled by the sumptuous press of his mouth against hers, all the warmth and affection in the universe channelled into this singular act. Patiently exploring the fullness of their conjoined lips, his moves incendiary and deliberate, if not a touch cautious, shy. 

_My first kiss. My Yuletide gift is my first kiss._

_Jaime is kissing me. The man I love is kissing me._

Her heart skipped a beat, near bursting from her ribcage at the revelation. A damn of happy tears flooding her closed eyes. 

_Never stop, please Gods, may this moment last for eons…_

But he was already pulling away, their lips prised apart fraction by fraction. She knew soon this fantastical moment would be gone, committed to mere memory along with the rest. 

_No._

Surging forward she brought her hands to his face, her mouth crashing inelegantly against his, clutching him to her, prolonging the contact, extending the duration of the best present she had ever received. 

And it was as though all the fireplaces in the Seven Kingdoms ignited at once, Jaime’s response an inferno of heat and passion, allowed to blaze forth from its latent prison of self-restraint as he returned her fervour threefold. His fingers splaying upon her chin and cheek, tilting her head just so, his husky hum rebounding with a vibration in her own throat, telling her of his long-repressed ardour. 

_Jaime was waiting… for me to welcome his kiss or push him away. For me to reciprocate. To know his gift was happily accepted and not rebuffed._

_Oh, his glorious, glorious gift..._

Brienne’s prayers were answered in that moment – or was it minutes? Hours? Time inconsequential when she was carried away in a torrent of yearning released, of sensations discovered. The unparalleled softness of his lips, wet and warm. Moist velvety pillows amidst a carpet of golden pine needles. Cushiony when brushed in one direction, abrasive when passion changed the angle of their kiss. Exquisite in its agony, skin raked and raw yet never more charged and alive. 

His tongue licked expertly into her mouth, pausing to gently nip and tug the plump, pink flesh of her lip between his teeth until she moaned, her cries animalistic and foreign. A carnal creature unfurling in her belly, emitting its unique mating call, desperate for him to respond in kind, and nearly combusting from rapture when he replied with a guttural roar of his own. 

“ _Jaime…_ ” 

What Brienne wanted she couldn’t articulate, but it was acute, needy. A cure for the ache in her previously dormant depths, a piece to fill the emptiness, _a lover…_

That was it. The sublime manifestation of her desire, the elusive embodiment succinctly summarised. 

_But not just any lover – **my** lover. Jaime. Him. _

Instinctually he pulled her onto his lap, fitting her strong, tree-trunk like legs to either side of his hips. “ _Mine_.” Jaime’s possessive growl filled her ears as he squeezed her thigh, anchoring her in this licentious embrace, his hardness nestling comfortingly against her middle, unfamiliar yet so very right. And she arched into it, rubbing herself against his laces, scandalised by her own impulses but too far gone to care. Almost unrecognisable to herself as she surrendered to the sensuality of their position, the surety of their eventual joining. Attune to his caresses and the friction of their writhing forms, giving herself over to the pleasure. 

“I know what you need…” He purred, leonine eyes flashing evergreen, putting the firs draped over the mantle to shame with their vivid, verdant hue, waltzing with the wildfires of lust. “It’s the same thing I need…” 

Jaime kissed down her jugular, stopping to suck on her collarbone, the bristles of his beard leaving reddened patches of insatiability, marking where he had been as his fingers hinted at where he intended to go. Fumbling and pawing at her unforgiving leather jerkin, searching for an in, snarling in frustration when her breasts remained out of reach of his hand and stump. 

She grinned, tickling him beneath the chin in an attempt to pacify her rapacious lion, scratching her fingertips through the thick gold and silver stubble, the prickling against the pads similar to the holly leaves she had twined into the garland above the doorframe. His rumbles hushed as he moved to the junction of her shoulder, grazes of teeth and brushes of tongue communicating his relentless hunger, his arm around her waist holding her fast and flush against him. 

Brienne listened to the sound of her own laboured sighs, the quiet creak and rustle of leather and fabric as she unconsciously rocked against his engorged crotch, telling him what her diffident maidenly heart could not…

That she had a place he could find refuge from the winter and the loneliness. That he could take shelter in the welcoming hearth between her thighs. 

_Yes – I’m ready for this._ Deft but slightly quaking hands found her own ties, began loosening the bindings which had kept her Jaime at bay. _I want this. Yes._

She took a deep inhale, leaning in to the ministrations of his mouth as she unlaced her bodice. 

_Jaime is starving, filled with passion… but he is a gentleman at heart. He will wait for my nod. I must find the words, give him consent…_

“Your gift… is wonderful…” Her voice was a disjointed thing, afflicted by both timidity and wantonness. Breathy and deep, almost enticing… If it weren’t for the shrill squeak at the end of her sentence betraying her demure virtue.

“So was yours.” His tenor managed to be perfectly erotic, striking the ideal balance of smoothness and spice, like the seasonal Yuletide cakes she had favoured as a girl. “I would not trade it for a present purchased with all the gold in Casterly Rock and Braavos combined.” He laid his cheek against her shoulder, his nose burying into her neck and making her light-headed from the sincerity of his sentiment, bolstering her bravado as she shrugged out of her jerkin, disturbing him only long enough to free her shoulders from the sleeves, letting the leather fall off behind her and pool into a dark bundle upon the rug. 

No sooner had she achieved this feat than Jaime was back in position again, the heat from his skin seeping through the loosely woven knit of her undershirt. His stumped arm sneaking beneath the hem and resting upon the bare skin of the small of her back, the handmade sock-cover fleecy against her spine. 

She boldly knotted her fingers in his hair, holding him tightly to her rampaging heartbeat, kissing his temple and extending propositions which she never thought this holiday would facilitate. “I am sure there are other things we can give each other today…” Brienne swallowed down her nerves, and she spied him watching the constriction of her throat with fascination. “…warmth. Comfort. Firsts…” 

The Maid of Tarth left the offer hanging, like a tiny parcel upon an evergreen bough. Just waiting for its recipient to come and pluck the treasure from the branches, claiming it as their own. 

“Brienne…” Jaime lifted his head, delight and flirtation spiriting across his god-like features. “Are you saying that you want my package for Yuletide?” He sparkled with thrill at her audacity, pupils dilating in stimulation and hope. 

She bit her lip, nodding coyly, her own eyes two giant baubles of blue, insides clenching and unclenching in anticipation, her gaze flitting from the furs on the bed to the very rug on which they sat. 

“Greedy Wench.” Jaime’s tone was impressed, his arousal palpable, rubbing his nose seductively against hers as he nodded his approval. “Well go ahead, unwrap it. Because if you have me, it means I get you in return – and you are the best gift I could possibly be given…” His demeanour turned solemn as he unwound his arms from her torso and took her hand. Propping her palm up with his stump and covering her digits with his own. “…Only promise me that if we do this – you will grant me the same gift for every Yuletide forevermore. You. Me. Endlessly. Never apart.” He inclined his head, wild imploring barely contained as he studied her expression, looking for the answer in the emotions etched on her countenance. “Do I ask too much?” 

Brienne’s mouth gaped, the impact of his implication sinking in before her lips morphed into a wobbly smile, chin quivering as her bottled feelings spilt onto her face, too overcome to hide. His suggestion of a vow to spend their lives together, uniting upon every holiday until they were old and grey the epitome of her most private and cherished dream. 

“If you want that Jaime – you may have it.” She gulped down the threat of tears, the dewy rims of her eyes disclosing the cravings of her soul. “For as gift’s go, there is none greater I could dare dream of. Riches could never tempt me, nor power or station. But love – that I want. From you.” Her ragged breath shuddered as she formed the forbidden words, confiding aspirations to him she thought she would keep eternally inside. “Love alone can move me, stubborn creature that I am. Your love. None other. That would be my request in return as I wholeheartedly agree to yours. That I would give myself to you for all the years to come, if I could have reason to hope that one day my love would be reciprocated. That you could come to love me in return…”

“But my Brienne – what you ask for is not a new gift. You already have my love.” Jaime said it so simply, as though it were a well-known fact. Long established, wrought in iron, writ in stone – just somehow she had failed to notice. Misinterpreting his every glance, the way he sought her company day in and out, riding to the ends of the Earth, through the harshest winter on record and abandoning all he had known to be near her. The romance she had always yearned for finally hers to embrace. “I love you.” He smiled openly, his transparency letting Brienne glimpse her own name engraved upon his heart. “I have for the longest time.” 

She nodded, at once understanding. Blushing and internally gushing. The myriad of effusive sentiments playing through her mind all seeming trite when compared to the indescribable emotions twirling within. 

Eventually she settled upon a classic - plain and genuine just like her. “I love you too.” The pink staining her cheeks intensifying when she added. “And seeming as I already have your affection, I best opt for the other package then…the one I’ve never had but desperately desire.” 

“ _That_ package Wench?” He waggled his eyebrows and she nearly spluttered, his ridiculous behaviour at odds with his appearance befitting an amorous god. “Should we not wait for our honeymoon? I imagine marriage should be on the table given all we have sworn to one another…” 

“Save your propriety and proposals for another occasion.” Sidling closer, Brienne kissed his lips. The touch of her mouth to his brief and infused with temptation, hoping it made him want more. “Today is Yuletide and I have a gift to unwrap.” 

She tugged upon Jaime’s laces, the loose knot unravelling as her working fingertips danced over the bulge of his hardness, silencing any further notions of waiting from her soulmate. The faint vestiges of carols soon drowned out by heavy sighs, ripping fabric and colliding flesh. 

In the end Brienne was pleased that she had saved everything for a memorable Yuletide Day. 

From the pretty garlands of holly and pinecones strung high upon the beams - creating a picturesque image behind the shoulder of her strong lion, both man and decorations a feast for her eyes from her vantage point upon her back. To the surrounding candles which illuminated the firm lines of his splendorous body above her, showing her the ridges of his chest and abdomen, lighting heavenly pathways between Jaime’s muscles for her to track with her wandering tongue. 

And finally, she was especially thankful for the excess logs which she had added to the fireplace in advance, keeping the room cosy and hot for shamelessly unclad lovers upon the rug – for they never did make it to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! And I somehow got through without mentioning 'Jaime's burning Yule Log' - wait... I just said it then, LOL.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time out of their busy December to read this fic and leave a comment.  
> Hearing from you makes my Yuletide merry and bright and is better than gifts under the tree. <3
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
